Page 150 of Sinful Lord

He’d then asked if I could describe where I was being held.

I did my best, but for as magnificent as the view is from the bedroom window, it doesn’t exactly provide many landmarks to work with.

After that, Rian had gone surprisingly quiet. For almost half an hour, I paced back and forth, biting my nails and furrowing my brows, unsure if what I had done was the right thing.

Then, I had gotten Rian’s final email of the night.

Be strong. I’ll find you.

That’s all it said. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too tired. Too worried. Too torn.

I fell into bed, stuffed my face into a pillow, and the next thing I knew I was waking up to a new day.

… And another email from my brother.

Mel,

There’s some kind of signal blocker over your location. High-tech security-ware that I haven’t been able to break through. Rozalia is working on the problem now too. Just hang in there. We won’t be much longer. I promise.

PS. Don’t worry about Tytus. I’ll take care of him.

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I push myself up against the headboard and pull the computer onto my lap.

When the blurriness clears from my vision, I read the email again. Slower this time.

My stomach drops further with every word. Then, at the end, I nearly implode with dread.

PS. Don’t worry about Tytus. I’ll take care of him.

Suddenly, I realize something I hadn’t before.

Tytus. He was with Maksim last night when I sent the email. The thought barely crossed my mind as I was typing. I was so distracted by everything else.

It was just supposed to be therapeutic, but then I clicked send. Now, there’s no going back.

What have I done?

There’s no way Rian didn’t immediately contact our uncle. Were the two together when Maksim learned of Tytus’ treachery?

My pounding heart sinks.

I don’t even want to imagine what a fight between those two looks like. How does anyone survive something so vicious?

“Fuck,” I breathlessly sob, equally worried for both men.

That anxiety quickly festers until my entire body is gripped by it. This is my own fault. I wasn’t thinking. And because of me, those two might have torn each other to bits while I slept.

The laptop slips from my grip, toppling over on the mattress as I stare blankly ahead.

How could I forgive myself if anything happened to either of them?

The question thrashes through my mind as I try to fight back all the horrifying possibilities. Nothing works—that is, until three words rip through the chaos.

I love you.

Somehow, the memory of Tytus’ confession calms me enough to think straight again. But the strange warmth I’m filled with also brings up a new question.

How can I be just as concerned for Tytus as I am about my Uncle Maksim?